The Beginning
by Kisses on the Steps
Summary: Marguerite and Armand arrive at Blakeney Manor and receive appalling treatment somewhat unexpected to the newly-wed: a moody maid, a non-present husband and a begrudging household. All she wants to do is go back to Paris with her beloved brother when he leaves. Meanwhile, Armand and Percy get caught up in League affairs in France.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Her slumber concluded abruptly as Armand jerked and almost fell halfway out the carriage window. She stretched and groaned," What really is so interesting out there?" Sitting up she glanced out the window and sharply in took breath at the new sight entering her vision. A colossal mansion reflected off the pool in front with captivating and picturesque illusions of stars. A scene like that would take the breath out of any passerby. "Is that mine?"

Armand turned and beamed, "How does it feel sister, to be married to the richest man in England?"

"I don't know what to say," she answered, still refusing to part with her gaze on the ever approaching manor. The front drive was surrounded by well-trimmed bushes and flowers from what Marguerite could see through the darkness. All the lights in Blakeney Manor brilliantly illuminated every room in the house, showing off the grand display of chandeliers, fine curtains and plush furniture to show off to the new lady of the house.

"They must have gotten my message that I was coming," she whispered to her brother. A half a dozen men were already waiting outside to attend to the weary travelers. Marguerite tried to strain to see a familiar figure in vain as not one silhouette massively dominated over the others. The nervous, giddy feelings she felt on leaving her brother's house to finally join Percy at Blakeney Manor all came back terribly fast at his absence upon her arrival. The regrets of their fight and the things she said to him, her passionate lover, probably pained her almost as much as it did him. She was ready to fall into his arms and plead for forgiveness, and then he would show her how much he loved her through kind words of reconciliation and passionate kisses. She wanted someone to love her like Percy had during their courtship.

"Lady Blakeney?" Marguerite glanced down at the courtier reaching for her hand and took it, imagining it was Percy Blakeney, the most dashing, charming, and handsome gentleman she had ever met. She smiled, seeing his droopy eyes that would often blaze with passion, and stepped down from the carriage, watching the light shine onto his blessed face, outlining his carved jaw line and prominent cheekbones, wanting to kiss the roundness in his cheeks whenever he smiled. When the servant tugged his hand away, the illusion ended and she was left, dazed from the lack of Percy's presence that this house bore.

"Don't worry Marguerite," Armand assured, "Sir Percy has to be waiting inside. Do you think he would ever be caught participating in physical labor?"

"He hunts during the seasons," Marguerite defended. Percy may be somewhat lazy, but she didn't like Armand making fun of him, even though he was never offended by such comments. "He is surely mad at me Armand. His not coming to greet us is a sure sign of his grudge."

"Do not assume that of Percy. I know he loves you."

"He still has the right to be bitter."

"Let us go in and see. If he is indignant, humble yourself and he will forgive you. Sir Percy-"

"Lady Blakeney!" Both turned and beheld a middle aged woman in plain clothing. Marguerite would have thought her comely, in exception of the scowl on her face. "I am your personal maid, and have stayed up waiting for you to arrive."

"What about Sir Percy?"

The woman scoffed, "Your husband is gone, and will not be back for who knows how long." Marguerite was tempted to climb back into the carriage with Armand and travel back to Paris.

"Percy isn't here." She turned to Armand and whimpered.

"Marguerite, you're strong. Percy won't be gone long. Besides, you'll be with me. If he doesn't arrive in the next few days, we'll sit down and have a talk about how to treat my little maman," he whispered with a smile. "Go. We'll survive without him for a few more days. Like we did in Paris."

"I don't know what I would do without you my little Papa." She took his hand and climbed up the steps together. "I thought you were tired maid? Aren't you coming," Marguerite asked with a quizzical brow to the irritable woman, now eye level to her. The maid scowled even more and humphed as they waited for her. She sped to the house, leaving behind the siblings in the dust.

"If we are to survive in this land of luxury, we must hurry on," Armand laughed and helped quicken her pace with a rhythmic beat to their synchronized footfalls. They had been practicing this art since they were little orphans in the streets. Soon enough, they were a few feet behind her disgruntled maid.

"This," she sighed, "is Blakeney Manor," and opened the grand oak doors. Any praises Marguerite might have exclaimed to Armand were suppressed by the feeling of discomfort caused by her grumpy maid. "Tours will be held in the morning," she explained as she guided Marguerite away to her rooms and left Armand waiting for a butler to take him to his. "Your rooms. Four in all. Come inside and I will help you get undressed." Every word was said with impatience and vehemence, giving Marguerite an uncomfortable feeling that she was to dress and undress her every night.

"I am not in anything too hard to get out of tonight. Just go to bed."

"Very well mistress."

"Wait, you know my name, yet I not yours."

"Dorothea." The woman slightly bowed and molded into the dark shadows of that side of the house.

They were beautiful rooms, though empty of anything she really cared about, namely Percy, who could have filled that side of the empty bed that was covered in moonlight, if only he would come back.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Despite her weariness from the journey from Paris to Richmond, Marguerite found herself quite unable to sleep in the feather-bed that was heavenly soft from the silky satin bedsheets. Her dingy, thin nightgown felt quite inadequate compared to everything surrounding her, and she had to pull out her quilt from Paris to make herself feel more at home. It was the only thing that felt warm in the whole entire household, and she was distracted for the longest time as to why that was. The servants, mostly Dorothea, glared at her when she had passed by them, and she could not help but duck her head and blush, even though she had no idea why they hated her so. It was an unpleasant thing; to be hated by others-surly a new experience, since everyone in France worshiped her for her acting skills.

As she gazed up at the ceiling for most of the night, homesickness overcame her for Paris, where she had friends on every street. England was wholly alien to her. Not one friend lived here, and soon Armand would leave her to return. Then she would be truly alone. Sometime during dawn's first light, she finally was overcome with fatigue and put aside her dilemma. It seemed that the moment she closed her eyes, Dorothea spread wide the curtains, revealing early morning sunlight.

"Good morning Lady Blakeney, I trust you slept well," Dorothea chirped cheerfully. Marguerite groaned and pulled her quilt over her eyes. She wondered if this was the same servant that greeted her last night. Her maid went on saying how lovely the garden looked at his time in the morning, and how breakfast was still being prepared, but she needed to guide the household in how to prepare for Sir Percy.

At first, Marguerite had ignored her maid's rambling until her husband's sweet name left her lips. Marguerite jumped out of the bed and threw the blanket on the floor. "Sir Percy is coming? When will he arrive?"

"Nothing is clear at the moment. We received a note-"

"Where is this note?"Marguerite had no desire to plead Dorothea for further information.

"Here, Lady Blakeney," Dorothea smirked and handed her the note. There were a few moments of silence as Marguerite read the note and then pocketed it.

"If Percy is a day's ride away, I first need to become accustomed to the household." Her maid obediently turned away and started to help Marguerite prepare for the day. She smiled at the submissive acquiescence her quick-tongued servant showed at the order. She could enjoy directing the servants to do her bidding if they all treated her like this.

After a full morning of meeting with the heads of the house, she was ready to collapse. A servant named Frank noticed her fatigue and guided her to her brother, who had waited patiently to explore the gardens with her.

Armand stood up from the bench and embraced his swooning sister. "Thank you...?"

"Oh, Frank sir, Sir Percy's personal valet."

"Then you must now when your master is going to arrive, correct?"

"Yes, Sir Percy is an excellent horseman. He will most likely get back tonight, earlier than he said."

"Good, I will take Lady Blakeney to her bedroom now. Her journey must have sapped her strength."

"She has never sailed through the English Channel, I am correct in saying that? That must be the reason."

"Yes, that must be it. Thank you again, for your attentiveness to my sister." Frank bowed and walked back to the house. Marguerite leaned on her brother as he helped her to locate her room again.

"Thank you, brother," she mumbled as he arranged her bedding to make her more comfortable and then was instantly asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Maman, we're going to die, aren't we?" Annette asked. Her mother looked down at her oldest child and trembled with the hardest smile she had ever conjured. At only 7 years old, Annette D'Augne could not be lied to. A lie wouldn't help either, not in their situation. Madam D'Augne couldn't answer for a few moments, almost told her the horrible truth-their names were called out to be tried the next day. Within two days, they would both be dead.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," someone whispered outside their cell. Annette scurried to the door to see who it was as they unlocked and opened it. Annette was suddenly hidden as the figure swept her up into his arms. "Madame D'Augne, come we are here to save you." He handed her a paper with a red flower drawn on with red chalk and followed the man, who, in better light, she could see wore a soldier's dirty uniform. A moment of panic made her stop until she realized she was safe with a surety from the paper in her hand.

The soldier guided them through dark and dank passages in the prison maze. Madam D'Augne forlornly looked at the others she passed who were still trapped in their prisons, and felt how lucky she was to take the Scarlet Pimpernel's notice. Only once did another soldier pass by, and he only nodded to her rescuer and passed on. A door was left ajar, and the prisoners saw their first natural light in weeks. It first blinded Madam D'Augne and then she welcomed it, even though the air was not much less pungent outside than inside the prison. Annette was doing the same; she could hear her child's deep breaths in pleasure.

The man stopped by a cart hidden in the shadows. He handed Annette to the driver, a striking blonde-haired man with bright blue eyes. He wore plain clothes, but his air made her feel as if he was noble. He helped Madam D'Augne next to him on the driver's seat as Annette climbed into the back, where another child, a boy, played in the straw.

"Good work Hastings," the driver praised. "The plans for the rescue of Comte De Moncey goes unchanged." Then, the driver abruptly willed the horses to start down the cobblestone road.

Madam D'Augne stared in shock at the driver before saying,"You're him! Oh Dieu, thank you Monsieur-"

"Do not thank me yet Madam," he whispered,"Your performance at the gate will determine the fate of all of us. Here is a rag to remove some of the filth off." He handed her a ragged piece of cloth. She first wiped off her face, but could not get everything. "Do not bother," he advised,"No one is perfectly clean in Paris these days." She handed the rag to her daughter, who smiled at the possible idea of being cleansed again. The little boy scoffed at her efforts.

"Who is the boy?"

"An orphan I took pity on," he turned and looked back at the boy. "Both his parents perished from Madam la Guillotine two weeks ago."

"He is not a noble?"

"No, they were simple people. Someone wanted revenge on them for some matter, and betrayed them." The Pimpernel looked back at her with sorrow,"I hope you do not think I am trying to replace him with your son, but I hope that in England you will take him in."

Bitter tears stung Madam D'Augne's eyes, "I could not be angry with you, for saving Annette, even though you could not do the same for my husband and two boys.

"If I could have everything my way Madam, I would save everyone from the guillotine." Madam D'Augne smiled at him and then drew a quick breath. The city's west gate was visible, only a hundred yards away. "Do not panic Madam D'Augne. They will judge you by fear. Why fear if you do not have a reason to? I will protect you Madam. There is nothing to fear." He took her hand and squeezed it. Instead of giving in to the trembling quaking inside her, she pushed it down to the depths of her and tried to appear confident. The soldier at the gate scrutinized them from the moment he saw them.

"Papers?"

"Here captain," he bent to give away the fake passports. There were a few seconds of unnerved silence as he read the papers that could save her and Annette.

"Citizen Ramboyeane and his wife?"

"Yes captain, and our two children in the back. They are mentioned as well."

The grimy soldier shuffled through the packet until he found the information. "Ahh, Annette and Pierre." Both children popped their heads over the back at the mention of their names. He nodded toward them and then turned back to her and the Pimpernel. "What is your business for leaving town?"

"We live outside of Paris, and are farmers. We have sold all our produce today and have to go home to prepare for tomorrow."

"It is early in the day to be sold out already, wouldn't you say?"

"We do the best we can," the pimpernel put on a look as if his pride had been insulted. "We don't have much captain."

"I had no intention to offend citizen. Asking questions is my job. You may pass."

"Captain," the Pimpernel slightly bowed his head and took the papers back. The cart started up again, as did the beating of her heart. Within a few seconds, Madam D'Augne and her only living child were safe outside the imprisoned city.


	4. Chapter 4

The Scarlet Pimpernel looked up to the heavens in delight as it thundered all it's rain and hail upon him. Sure, it made for a nasty cold, but was enough to stop his pursuers from gaining more ground. He let a wild laugh escape him at the adrenaline thrill of it all. The little girl in front of him shifted at the curious sound he made. One could only think he was half-mad, and maybe he was. After all, he knowingly risked his life for sport, time and again. His men couldn't comprehend his mindset totally. Not even his second-in-command, Andrew Foulkes, who was the closest to him of all, could see his leader's reasoning behind their mad adventures. The valiant leader had planned the most risky, daring escapes for the past two weeks. None had failed, but they were all worried for his sake, and that of his new wife, who no doubt stayed up night and day thinking about him. Percy always shook them off with his inane laugh, but never gave a reason why he was not with Marguerite.

The light of the rendezvous beckoned to both riders on the horse, promising warmth and substance. Within a few minutes, Percy stopped the horse in front of the small shack. After they were hushed in by the weary family and Foulkes himself, the shutters were closed, making it almost impossible to tell if there even was a house on the side of the road, due to the darkness the storm had created. Annette shivered at the table as she gulped down her soup, some of the first appetizing food she had since she entered the Paris prison. Percy sat by the fire with Foulkes, talking quietly.

"Madam D'Augne and Pierre are almost to Boulogne. The Daydream is waiting?"

"Yes, Foulkes, their rescue should be easy compared to little Annette here. It was a pity we had to split. Those demmed frog-eaters wouldn't give up the chase, would they?"

"I cannot believe you could say such a thing, sir," Foulkes smiled somberly,"seeing that your own wife hails from this country."

"Her loyalties still lie with her country as well," Percy murmured as he gazed into the fire.

"What do you mean?" Andrew asked curiously. Percy raised his head and met his eyes with a melancholy expression.

"She betrayed the St. Cyr family, Foulkes. They," he paused and sighed, "They are all dead now, and because of her." Percy put his head in his hands in an affecting manner, making Foulkes' feel for Percy's heartrending emotions.

"So she does not know that you are...?"

"How could I," Percy moaned. The were both silent for a time, listening to the slurps of Annette at the table. Percy finally finished the story. "We had a horrible quarrel Andrew! She... insulted me so grossly that I can't stand to think of reconciliation, not now, when there are such high stakes."

"Percy, I don't think-"

"And I fought back too Andrew. How horrible I was to her! But I didn't even know the woman anymore. She... was not who I believed her to be. There is a whole family's blood on her hands, and all she does is scoff at me and give no answer," Percy stood and leaned on the mantle, speaking as fiercely as he could within a whisper. "I would have accepted a lie Andrew, but she refused me even that, and now I am forced to believe the rumors."

"Is that why you haven't returned to Richmond-because she is there?"

"Afterwards, Andrew, she left me for Armand. I have not seen her since then." Andrew gaped at him with an inquisitive glance at his obstinate, strong-willed friend. He had learned many a-time of Percy's trait, and was only reminded of it further in these extreme situations. "I don't even know if she is at Richmond."

"Is there anything I can do...?"

"No, Andrew. I will handle the situation." Percy smiled plaintively and turned to Annette at the table. "Well Mademoiselle D'Augne, I think it is time for you to rest. Monsieur Garcon will see you to your needs." The room was clear of everyone else, and Percy leaned over to Andrew with a whisper, "I am back to Paris. See to it that Annette gets back to her mother. It will happen as long as you follow my directions."

"Percy, I will go to Paris for you. Go back to England."

"Foulkes, this really isn't the time to-"

"I'm not, Percy, go home and rest. Come back when you are well-rested."

"What waits for me there, Andrew? An empty household mocking me?"

"Send for her Percy! It is her pride that keeps her away."

"Then it is mine that devoids me from calling for her."

"Then think of your image. Surely England misses her dandy, Sir Percy?" Andrew urged with a smile,"They will suspect if you're absent as much as you are now." Percy faltered and with some concern evident on his face, he turned and thought on it.

"Sir Percy Blakeney Bart," he drawled and followed by his inane laugh, continued, "is my most full-proof disguise Andrew."

"Then test it out on the one who has the best chance of seeing through it! And if you succeed, you will have the assurance that you will be safe from any French spy who snivels around in London." There was a smile on Percy's face as he contemplated.

"Very good plan Foulkes. I might just take on that challenge. Your wish is granted-Moncey's rescue is now up to you. I will reunite Annette and her mother, then."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Marguerite woke up sometime that night, to the sound of voices outside her door, which was cracked open. She groggily sat up and listened to the conversation of hushed, arguing voices.

"I only assumed milord-"

"Do not assume anymore Dorothea! Not when it comes to _her_." Through her sleepy mind, she was able to discern her husband's voice, _Percy_, she realized. "This has put me in an awkward position Dorothea! What will I say?"

"Hush, Sir Percy, I hear the Lady stirring." Marguerite crept out of the bed and silently made her way to the door,Then, the light widened in the room as Percy opened the door with a candle in hand.

"Hello, m'dear," he eyed her up and down disconcertingly. "you may go back to sleep."

"But I have been asleep for hours! How can I rest more than I have already?" Marguerite pouted, trying to see through this mood of his. Perhaps it was the fatigue of traveling and he wasn't himself.

"If you won't, I will," he then went into the room himself and stared at her icily. She drew away from that look and figured her fears were true. She knew she shouldn't have gone away. She was so angry at the time that it stimulated her to leave him, to show him just what he was missing when he spoke to her that way, but as soon as Armand received her at his home, she regretted it. She would like to have appealed to Percy as soon as she realized what would happen. And now it HAD happened. He shut the door on her and the light in the hallway was gone. Shadows were cast darkly on all the objects surrounding her. Dorothea had disappeared as quickly as Percy had, and Marguerite wished to seek her out, but... only after supper.

Percy shut the door and cringed at the sound it made-the sound of his heart closing a barrier, separating his own from Marguerite's, but then, Percy wasn't even sure she had a heart, much less loved him in return. He thought he knew when he saw a gold-digger, and Marguerite didn't seem like that type of person when he met her. Now, he questioned her actions for marrying him. He desperately wanted to believe it was out of the slightest bit of infatuation, not even love, that she accepted. She never was impressed by his jeweled gifts meant to swoon her, but she was an actress after all, and the best one at that.

Andrew's suggestion to play the fop with her privately would be one of his hardest tasks as the Scarlet Pimpernel. When he had just now seen a small glimpse of her at his tired state, he wanted to forget everything, but thank goodness for his unbendable pride, which could not forgive her words or actions. He could not pretend to be the idiot with her until he had a good night's rest. He walked to his dressing room and found Marguerite's clothes hanging next to his. He nearly broke down then, and flinched when he reached for his nightclothes and touched silky fabric of a sleeve of one of her dresses. It was _the_ dress, one he remembered quite well, and had memorized what it looked like on her, as she walked down the aisle to take his hand, where she swore to be with him forever. He remembered the way it had slipped off her shoulders that night, when he knew her for the first time. Percy shook off the thoughts of that one night; she had been Marguerite, the woman he would die for, do anything for, who was now gone. The woman out there was a stranger, someone he knew not, a murderess.

He took off his overcoat and other perspired items of clothing. He changed into his nightclothes, and slept, hoping the next time he would face Marguerite, he could be flippant enough to explain the mess-up with their bedroom situation.

"Could you tell me where my maid is?" Marguerite looked to Frank who had been the only kind one in the house to stop their tasks and help her. Every time she asked a servant that she passed, they glared or avoided her gaze and said quietly,"I don't know."

"Dorothea? Lady Blakeney, she just left the house."

"Where to?"

"Lady Blakeney, she isn't coming back."

"Did I offend her in any way?"

"No," he assured and patted her hand."Dorothea has her own reasons. Though, I don't know where she'll go, she has been here all her life."

"Will she be alright?"

"I'm sure she has some connections nearby, but it is no good to worry your mind over such matters, Lady Blakeney."

"Alright, thank you, Frank."

"A new maid is on her way, Mistress."

"Thank you. Make sure Sir Percy is properly taken care of," she administered.

"I can assure you, Lady Blakeney, I will never forget to watch over you husband." Marguerite glanced over at Frank, wondering if that comment was pointed at her, but Frank was looking off to another room.

"Of course Frank, I thank you again for the service you give to Percy." Marguerite could not help but believe that Dorothea left because of her. Now, there was nothing to do, her maid was gone, and there was no one to talk to, not one person she could confide in. "If you could, Frank, tell a servant to bring tea for me in the library."

"Of course Lady Blakeney," Frank bowed and left her in the hall. When Marguerite sat down on a comfortable lounge sofa, she nestled into the cushions with her Rousseau, but couldn't get into it like she usually would have. Her nap prevented her from further sleep, and she could not return to her rooms since Percy was there and resting. She did not want to disturb him or else face his wrath. She wouldn't disturb Armand out of respect for his sleep.

Then, she exercised her famous wit and put together some pieces of his mysterious puzzle. She didn't even know where Percy was while she was with Armand-at least she knew how he felt about it. Dorothea must have known something about Percy's feelings, because she held her in spite any time her husband was mentioned. Percy was hiding something as well, and she just couldn't figure it out. The whole time they had been courting, she felt the same way, and just assumed he would tell her when they were married.

Marguerite wished she could feel comfortable asking him such questions as his wife, but all intimate knowledge between man and wife dissipated because she left him, and did not send word of her whereabouts. His secrets, and hers as well, were let alone, never shared. How mad would he be, if he found out that it was because of a mere accident of her own, that a whole aristocratic family perished by the enticing blade of the guillotine.

He wouldn't understand.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The next morning, Marguerite found herself cramped and uncomfortable on the sofa. In front of her was a blazing fire blowing warm waves of heat onto her uncovered body. She yawned and sat up, hearing the sounds of life from the distant kitchens. Hopefully breakfast would be ready soon; she was famished and hoped to see someone there. "Lady Blakeney?" Marguerite turned and flushed to see one of her servants standing at the door. She quickly wiped drooled-on hair out of her face and stood up, trying, and failing to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. The young man cleared his throat and bashfully looked at the ground, "Sir Percy and Monsieur St. Just await you for breakfast."

"Thank you. Tell them I will be there in a few minutes." He left hastily, and Marguerite inspected herself in the mirror. Unfortunately, if she was to fix her hair, it would hold up the others for another hour, but managed to somewhat pull back her locks behind her ears. She would have to change out of her dress afterwards. There was nothing more she could do, especially without a maid. Hopefully, she would arrive today. As she made her way to Percy and Armand, Marguerite found herself disoriented and almost lost her way to the dining hall. After passing by a somewhat familiar room, she heard a shout of inane laughter. She recognized this as her husband's signature. Marguerite's heartbeat doubled at the sound of it, mostly out of uneasiness. How would he receive her today? Sighing, she pushed open the oak door and stiffly marched to the table. Percy, who she tried hard not to stare at, sat at the head, with Armand to the right, and a plate to his left filled up with delicious smelling sausages and porridge. They both stood up , and Percy pulled out the chair for her. She winced at Armand and Percy's dress, far more fine looking than she was at the moment. A real mistress of the house would never be caught sleeping in the library. She would have to do better.

Percy raised his eyeglass and looked her up and down critically. "Zounds, m'dear! We will have to take you out shopping in London before I can show you off to society." He laughed, making Marguerite's cheeks blush even more.

"I actually-"

"Of course Armand, you can come to, if you'd like. Might do well for you too," Percy cut in. Armand, fought a smile, trying not to be offended.

"Thank you Percy. Though, I do have to leave in a week." Percy tapped his eyeglass to his chin and did not reply.

"Oh Armand, don't leave me here!" Marguerite cringed at the way she worded that pleading. She glanced at Percy, only to find him yawning melodramatically. She reached out across the table to her brother, and took his hand. "I will miss you so very much." A pair of droopy eyes perused the exchange with disguised jealousy; the owner averting quickly back to his plate.

"Marguerite, I'm sorry. Percy is here with you. I'm sure you will forget about me in a month or so." Marguerite frowned and spooned porridge into her mouth. There was silence for a few minutes until Marguerite could not stand it any longer.

"Percy?"

"At your service." His quizzical eyebrow raised in question, a good-humored smile rooted on his face.

"I was only curious as to whom my new maidservant will be."

"T'will be a woman from your native land. Her name is Louise. She has a son as well. If you do not mind."

"Of course not. Where from France is she from?"

"Gad! How could I know that! Such a confusing country you came from."

"So you just picked up a woman and her child off some road in France without any knowledge of her past?"

Percy guffawed, "Of course not. That would be stupid! Why would I want to go to France with that demmed revolution going on?" He took another bite, "No, I picked them off the side of the road in Dover! They had just escaped Paris and had no where to go."

"I guess that is slightly better," Marguerite murmured.

"How convenient that I met them when I did! They will be here this afternoon."

"What are they like?"

"Odds fish! They are like any other demmed person," he said plainly. Marguerite sighed and ate a bite of sausage.

"No, I mean-"

"Armand, what say you? Shall we go out hunting for a day or two while Marguerite's in London?" She glared at Percy for the first time with contempt. How could she get a word out with him interrupting her all the time? _May be that was the point_, a voice chided in her head.

"Well, I would accept this invitation, but Marguerite-"

"Don't upset your plans in account for me," Marguerite replied sarcastically, "I couldn't imagine getting in the way of your sport."

"Lud love, how mindful you are," he rubbed his eyeglass on his sleeve to clean it, while speaking in an icy tone, the same he used the night before. "We would not want to get in the way of your fashion."

"How could you get in the way of MY fashion sir, when it is you who requires me to go to London for it?" Percy gazed at her from under his half-closed lids, and then burst out laughing. Marguerite cleared her throat and spooned out another portion of her gruel, and could not help but smirk. She had vague memories of her apartment in Rue Richelieu come back to her, where they would laugh at any witty comment she made. She had to bite her tongue so she would not make fun of Percy any longer. The poor idiot could not help if he was totally ignorant of her feelings, with no mother to take care of him.

"Indeed you are correct m'dear," Percy drawled, "I am the most fashionable man in England society. No one, not even you, could interrupt my way of life."

"What an interesting pursuit, sir. I ne'er met one man with such a tenacious, noble desire," Marguerite scoffed.

"Quite more noble, Lady Blakeney, than _your_ desires and pursuits." Percy glared at her with eyes that bore into her soul. Marguerite met his stare with one comparable to his own.

"Excuse me Armand," she said to her brother without glancing at him. She stood, and swept out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Goodbye, Sir Percy, " Marguerite reached her hand out grudgingly, not even wanting him to touch her anymore. He gallantly bent and kissed her hand ceremoniously.

"Lady Blakeney," Sir Percy said quietly. When he stood straight, he walked with her to the carriage. She glanced back at the house, hoping to see Armand run out one last time to say adieu, but no one came. "Oh,' Percy added, "your new maid will join you in London. Have a swell time m'dear." Then he helped her up and closed the door. When Percy stepped away, she was tempted to say something kind, but out of her humiliation earlier, she watched her hands as the coach pulled away, and only looked up at the last moment, catching a look of longing clearly evident on her husband's face. She peered at him for a moment, but as soon as it came, he replaced it with his humorous smile, mocking her. Then, he was lost from view. She sighed and collapsed against the cushions, her mind muddled in confusion.

The sky was gray as usual, and Marguerite couldn't help but feel homesick as she dreamed of the sun beating down on her in the crowded streets of Paris. At least I am alone, she thought. It would have been better if Armand had accompanied her, but then Percy would have to come, and she couldn't bear to talk to him for another moment. No, it was better for her if she could somehow get used to Armand's absence. This trip could help clear her thoughts. Maybe his separation from Blakeney Manor would help her to be more tolerable of the servants and her husband.

After another hour of looking at the drab landscape, she caught sight of London, a city even bigger than Paris. It unnerved her a little to be alone at entering it for the first time, but reminded herself of the bravery she had under the age of twenty upon becoming a famous Parisian actress, with only a brother at her side. She was now older, and convinced her mind she didn't need him to look after her. There was no need for that. She was a rich, English _lady_, married to the intimate friend of the future king of England! Did she need a companion?

She stepped out of the carriage without the hand offered to her. Passersby stopped to see the foreign spectacle arrive at Sir Percy's tailor. Marguerite didn't give them a sideways glance, but held her head high and proud like she witnessed the St. Cyr family do to her and Armand. A woman waited outside the door in plain clothes. Marguerite could distinctly tell she was french as well. She curtsied and bowed her head. Marguerite softened and inclined her head slightly. "Lady Blakeney," she whispered with awe in a strong french accent.

"_Soyez libre de me parler en français_."

"That is quite alright Lady Blakeney. I need to get used to the language." the servant smiled hesitantly.

"You are...Louise?"

"From Boulogne milady."

"Good, come inside and keep me company." Louise gaped, and Lady Blakeney smiled. Maidservants tended to stay in the corner, waiting to be needed, but Marguerite wanted to friendship Louise, a connection to home that would bring her joy and comfort. Louise curtsied again and followed her through the door, entering into a lavishly decorated entryway. Servants all bowed in unison as she stepped through the door. A middle-aged man, slightly stout and balding, stood next to a plain woman servant, who held a string.

"Lady Blakeney, " the man exclaimed and rushed to shower her hand in wet kisses, "Anthony Mewer, at your service."

"My pleasure Mr. Mewer." He did not cease to kiss her hand. "Shall we get started, Sir?" The man's head whipped up in delight. He beckoned the woman nest to him to come near.

"Come, Lady Blakeney. Let us see your form. Stand on that pedestal." Marguerite unsteadily obeyed, and stared at herself through the mirror as they scrutinized her shape, and measured her waist, bust, and hip length.

"Louise," Marguerite questioned her servant, who perked up from her watchful trance.

"Lady Blakeney?"

"How have you come to England?"

"Quite a unique story, milady," Louise answered timidly. Mewer glanced at them curiously, but kept at his work.

"Humor me," Marguerite smirked.

"It.. was through... the Scarlet Pimpernel, Lady Blakeney." Everyone in the room gasped and turned on her.

"Who," Marguerite scoffed at the ridiculous name, or whatever it was.

"Is the Lady ignorant of this hero?" Mewer looked incredulously at her.

"Why, Mr. Mewer. I have only been in England for a few days."

"Lady Blakeney," Louise explained, "The Scarlet Pimpernel is one of the bravest men I've ever met. He knew I was held in suspicion by the french government, and took me and Phillipe away."

"How did he do it?" All ears turned up for the story.

"Milady?" Louise looked to Marguerite for permission, who nodded, intrigued by this silhouette character


	8. Chapter 8

"He swept me off my feet into arms that were so strong, I was halfway to swooning," Louise described. They had moved to a sitting area, where Louise sat on the pedestal and everyone sat, engaged in listening to her story. Tailoring duties were forgotten for the moment, which Marguerite was more than grateful for.

"Ohh, he's so dreamy," the servant next to Mewer moaned.

"Was he handsome?" Marguerite was curious to know.

"Oh, yes mistress," Louise smirked, "I'm sure that if I saw him again I would surely recognize him."

"And have you?" They prodded, sitting on the edges of their seats. Louise slyly smiled but gave no answer. There were a series of shouts and pestering

"Tell us. Did you see him?" There was a chorus of questions, but to this one she answered.

"I cannot give away his identity my dears." There were so many protests that Marguerite could not hear herself think for quite a few minutes.

"What happened next?" Mewer finally cut in. He had grown tired of the conversation of the masculinity of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"Well sir, he carried me out of Boulogne like I was his lover. He was brash and acted as a brute carrying his paid lady."

"What were his brash ways?" A servant giggled. Mewer glared at the girl, but she ignored him.

"He kissed me, right on the lips!" Louise exclaimed. "I assure you, that pulled it off completely and we were not at all questioned as we walked right out of the city!"

"Where was your son in all this?" Marguerite felt a little uncomfortable with this part of the story, however much the servant girls enjoyed it.

"My little son was already on the boat milady. His followers had already rescued him without suspicion from my apartment," Louise informed with awe. "They never explained how they did it, but as soon as we had left Boulogne on his beautiful ship, he set me down and... I never saw him again," Louise sighed with longing.

"How taken you all are with him," Marguerite commented. "Though I do not see the specialty of this 'Scarlet Pimpernel'."

"Lady Blakeney, how do you not see...?" Mewer shot a glare at his most outspoken maid.

"Forgive my servants. They are alike to all woman in this country. The Scarlet Pimpernel is the favorite in society because he has never failed. Every attempt has been successful."

"How does he do that?"

"Supernatural powers," Louise answered followed by giggles, "Really, most French believe he has some Satanic gifts. He is more of a mystery in France. Not one patriot says his name without a shudder."

"Why does he endanger his life so? Surely he knows he will be guillotined if he is caught."

"Of course he knows Lady Blakeney, it makes him so much more heroic."

"I'm sure it is all out of sport," remarked Mewer . Lady Blakeney suspected some little green monster had taken hold of his judgement. "His band of men are all young and daring. I am sure they do it out of the love of bothering those Frenchies, not to get the attention of young ladies."

"Nor the rest of England," Marguerite put in.

"Regardless of his intentions, the Pimpernel is my hero," Louise shut her eyes and sighed in sync with the other girls. Marguerite could not help but laugh at the women, more like girls than grownups. Still, this mysterious character intrigued her.

"How is it that no one knows his identity, though you have all this information about him?"

"Rumors, Lady Blakeney, or through what we hear of French refugees like Louise, thy maid."

"I was curious Louise, where is your Phillipe?" Marguerite would like to have left awhile before, but the subject of the Scarlet Pimpernel brought a conversation that had lasted for at least an hour, and they weren't even done with the dressing details.

"Oh, milady, he is upstairs, resting. You see, he was fairly ill when we left France." For the first time, Marguerite saw Louise's bright blue eyes darken. "I could not leave him at our inn. He must be up by now. "

"Go, Louise. If we could Mr. Mewer, Let us go back to our designs?" Mewer brightened and ordered his servant girls off to their proper places in the household. As, she studied his plans, Marguerite could not help but see that Mewer was artistically genius. He showed her styles that were not yet introduced. He proclaimed her to be his new "star"-Percy was his first and because of the many demands of the baronet, he had been able to start his business. Now, titles and nobility flocked to him for fashionable clothes introduced by the Blakeneys. Secretly, other tailors asked him for advice on styles and gave him a portion of their profits. He was so vilely rich now for a former merchant, that Mewer gave almost all his credit to Percy Blakeney. Mewer praised him for his attentiveness, and abundant support, something Marguerite saw her husband lack whenever he was around her lately. Marguerite could not help but feel some pride in Percy. Despite his foolishness, he was a great man, noble and gentleman-like, in Mewer's opinion. By mid-afternoon, Marguerite was finished with Mewer picking out colors and materials of fabric that would set her figure off perfectly.

"Louise, get your son. We are ready to depart."

"Aye, milady." Louise went upstairs to her son and came down with a boy of about 3 years of age. His dark brown hair was acutely opposite to Louise' blonde locks. He held the idea that he had once been a once, very robust child. His features had an unusual pallor to them, as if he had just been recovering from a horrid sickness. He gaped at her, a monument of exceeding wealth and beauty, something he had never seen before. All he had witnessed was the ruins of torched chateaus and nobles stripped of their wealth.

"Phillipe, Je suis Lady Blakeney," she said in French. She saw him relax and cling to his mother's skirts less tightly. He nodded to her and shyly hid his face in Louise's skirt-folds. She turned to her designer and offered her hand to him. "Thank you Mr. Mewer."

"It is my pleasure to serve the most beautiful woman in Europe." Inwardly, Marguerite snickered as he kissed her hand profusely. How similar she was described in Paris, with only "beautiful" replaced with, "cleverest."


	9. Chapter 9

The rattling on in the carriage was more amiable with young Phillipe and his mother aboard, at least during the start of the morning. Marguerite felt an almost envy for the relationship they had together, with the own knowledge that life had cheated her out of having parents, or at this point in her marriage, Marguerite believed, out of having her own children. To be with Percy in _that_ way, it horrified her to think of it again. Sure there had been one night, but they seemed to have rapidly changed the next day and grew apart so significantly, Marguerite could not believe that they would ever be one in the same again. Her original hopes of reconciliation only a few days before had been suppressed so quickly by her surprising attitude to Percy's personality, even though it had been no shock to encounter. She believed Percy had always _chose _to adopt that stupidity around her, but at now being a married couple, she had thought they would both act like the adults and partners they were.

"You were born in Bolougne?" Marguerite asked sometime during the ride back after an elongated amount of silence. It seemed rather a dull question to ask such a vibrant young woman. Surely they could know each other more closely than the facts of their life.

"Yes milady. I have lived there my whole life," Louise answered sleepily in broken English, cradling Phillipe's head on her lap. After the initial shock of riding in a plush carriage, the little toddler had settled himself next to a window and watched the landscape pass by like a series of moving pictures. Eventually the steady rhythm of Percy's prized bays and the drab view of the English countryside lulled him to a peaceful sleep.

"In my position Louise, I hope you understand..." Marguerite paused and situated herself into another sitting position, certainly not one as comfortable, but more ladylike and rigid. "I would like to know your needs for leaving France." Louise's face fell entirely, fear obvious on her face. She did not answer and only played with Phillipe's curls, avoiding her lady's perceptive gaze. "Louise, answer me. You mentioned at Mewer's that you were suspected for treason. What was that suspicion?" Louise flinched and kept her eyes on Phillipe, affection and defeat evident on her face.

"For bearing the child of an aristo, milady," Louise whispered the sacred secret. Marguerite could hardly keep the sharp intake of breath entering her lungs. She decided to stop her pursuits before poor Louise frightened and left her service the day she entered it. There was no more small talk afterwards until Blakeney Manor reappeared from behind century old trees and foliage. She remembered how impressed she was by her initial image of her now empty home, for she knew Percy meant what he said about hunting for a few days, leaving her with yet another lady's maid who despised and resented her, and taking Armand away from her embrace before he left. Mostly, Percy was considerate of her wishes and bid to them, but through some strong will, he now disobeyed and went his own path.

"Is Sir Percy here?" Louise asked hopefully.

"Nay, Louise. He and my brother, Monsieur St. Just, are hunting somewhere for the next few days."

"Ohh," Louise said with a glint in her eyes. "I understand."

_Do you?_ Marguerite wondered why her maid looked so smug, like she knew something her mistress didn't.

"Well, bring Phillipe. The servants entrance is on the east wing." She pointed to the location, where Louise would find a door leading to the grandeur kitchen. As her maid left to her own way, Marguerite gave a vehement sigh, gliding to the front doors of Blakeney Manor alone. It was dark inside. The life of the beautiful mansion seemed to die whenever the master was away, and a heavy pressure weighted Marguerite as she knocked on the big oak doors. It was a gorgeous residence, one that she would be proud to call home, if it weren't for the situation she was in. Marriage was a pretense that she had very quickly abandoned as soon as she had seen her husband that first morning, and despite her efforts to gain a friend in Louise, she seemed to be cold and unfeeling as a lady, just like the rest of the aristocrats she had been acquainted with. This weight seemed to get heavier as Marguerite thought of Armand's absence in exactly 5 days. She had no idea when he would get back with Percy. Hopefully they would have a day or two alone together before his leaving her to this imbecile. Chiding herself, she chose a kinder adjective for her husband-daft.

Upon entering her rooms she collapsed in agony on her four poster bed at this unseen weight of agony, loneliness, confusion and frustration. Although her pride would not admit it, yearning played a part in it as well. How could a lover like Sir Percy Blakeney change into an indifferent, cold, idiotic fop?

When Louise arrived with the news of dinner, she requested taking it in her rooms instead of the empty dining hall, where she would have sat by herself in silence. The rest of the day was left to her in the solitude of her rooms, doing whatever she pleased, writing letters, reading Rousseau, napping when she drifted off during times when she could not get into it. Being a lady felt utterly _useless... _

Her maid came in at dusk to change her into her nightgown. For the first time since the arrival home, she left the bed and went to the dressing room. To her shock, only her clothes hung there. Percy's wardrobe of gorgeous clothes that perfectly fit his physique had disappeared. "Where are Sir Percy's clothes?" She asked with dread. Louise shrugged, claiming Frank would know, since she had only been there for 8 hours at most. "I need you to inquire of him then." Marguerite replied after Louise had removed the layers of petticoats and her thin nightgown put over her shoulders. Louise had her open her arms to put on a dressing gown until she desired to sleep.

"Yes milady..." Louise said stiffly, and started toward the door.

"Louise... wait. I must apologize Louise, for my inquiries. I was just curious to know your circumstance."

Louise forced a smile onto her pretty face, but could not hide part of a fearful expression. " Tis fine Lady Blakeney. Someday, I may have the heart to tell the story, but not so soon after everything has happened.." Louise drifted off, pain evident on her face. " Am I allowed to take my leave?"

"Yes. Go directly to Frank and ask him. Then immediately come back and tell me."Marguerite anxiously waited for Louise's return and abruptly stood from her cushioned chair when the door opened. Louise looked troubled, and somewhat uncomfortable. She could see it wasn't going to to go well.

"Percy's valet says that... that" Louise did not finish, averting her eyes to the balcony, the bed, the floor. Anywhere but Marguerite. 

"Well?" Marguerite snapped, just wanting to hear the confirmed answer of what she had already suspected.

"He says Sir Percy removed to his own rooms on the opposite side of the house," Louise blurted quickly and loudly, and finally looked at Lady Blakeney, to see her reaction. There was no sign of it affecting her, despite the urgency in the tone of her voice when she requested her to find the answer. Marguerite, however, could feel the rest of her old life finally slipping away. There was only one way to repair the damage her husband had done. She had to confess. There was only hope left relying on his love, but Marguerite could appeal to him, and letting a few tears out expressing the loneliness she was going through, his ardent, passionate self would be reborn, scarcely able to bear the sight her in agony. They would be alright, if only she could fix this...


	10. Chapter 10

Armand glanced anxiously at Sir Andrew Foullkes, dressed in his ragged sailor's uniform, and hoped he looked as unrecognizable as his friend did. The fashionable, lively and kind young nobleman appeared to be a seafaring middle-aged brute with leathery tan skin caused from starting his career in his teens. Somehow, Foullkes had made some of his teeth disappear, pulling off the entire illusion. Armand scratched his itchy pepper gray wig, which was falling out of its ponytail in the back,and pulled down his pants, trying to cover his ankles. They were frayed at the end, and his sans-culotte costume was topped off with his dirty bare-feet and red Phrygian cap.

"Are you sure about handling this Armand?" Foullkes muttered in a tentative, uncertain whisper. Armand gulped down a hard lump in his throat and nodded, knowing all to well that what he was doing conflicted everything he had believed in, and went against everything he had worked for years. Still, Armand was going through with this fantastic, bizarre plan his brother-in-law had entrusted him the first meal without Marguerite. Halfway through the supper, after Percy had commented on the cut of his sleeves and such trivialities, he remarked,"I am going to visit Paris for a few days while Lady Blakeney is away. You are welcome to accompany me." Armand glanced up at Marguerite's husband, somewhat shocked that the coward Blakeney would want to go to France at all. The look on the man's face stupefied him even more. There was still a laziness to his blue eyes, but also a fervent, intense gaze in them, and Armand was thoroughly confused by this foppish man's sudden new attitude.

"What sport is there for you in France, Sir Percy?" He was answered by a half-shy smile and then by Percy's bell, tinkling in his long, feminine hands.

"Plenty to satisfy me..." Percy gazed off toward a window and then smiled. Setting down his fork he asked, "Would you like to take our conversation elsewhere? Or are you not done with your food yet?" For a reason Armand could not explain, he agreed to join him, leaving half of his food on his plate, and started toward the study downstairs. "Odds life Armand! There is more appropriate rooms for this conversation." Percy lead him to the stairway and guided him to a room that had totally gone unnoticed by himself. He vaguely remembered mistaking it for Marguerite's room and trying it, but finding it locked, he had passed on. At the time, Armand believed that there were probably dozens of rooms in the manor that were locked; it was nothing to be unexpected, but something struck him odd or special about this door, now that his brother-in-law would take special care to lock it. Percy took out an ornate key, unlocked it and paused before entering.

"I am choosing to trust you Armand, and have suspected-" Percy was cut off by Armand's laughter. Such an expression on Sir Percy's face, one of total and absolute seriousness, shocked Armand into this hysterical laughter. For a moment Percy raised an eyebrow in conusion and then smiled inanely again, and Armand could hardly feel that he had in some way disappointed him, and tried to explain his reasons for his humor.

"You demmed Frenchies are all the same," Percy muttered and stalked into the room. Armand could barely believe he was almost pleading to gain Percy's confidence again. This fellow probably needed to talk to him about something important, maybe a business transaction, or marriage advice. He knew things weren't going well with his sister's marriage to Blakeney. There was obviously serious problems between the two of them if Marguerite had fled to him the day after her marriage, and came back to _this_ Percy, who she claimed was different from before, though Armand could not remember Percy sweating over anything non-trivial before matrimony.

"Give me reason to be unlike any 'Frenchie' Percy. Tell me, what would you confide in me?"

"Gad my dear boy!" Percy laughed his usual laugh again. "I wish your opinion on the color of the new smock of my coat! What do you think?" Armand ignored this somewhat bitter and sarcastic comment Blakeney made. He was being thoroughly surprised every moment of this encounter.

"This is not what you dragged me up here to discuss, Sir Percy."

"I did not drag you up here to be laughed at, Armand." Percy's eyes and voice blazed with emotion again.

"Of course Percy, forgive me. I was just a little shocked at first..."Armand had drifted off as Percy smiled his real smile. It was a full smile, of joy and fulfillment.

"You will see Armand, that I have plans for this sport in France," Percy replied as he shut the door and locked it. Armand glanced around the room, filled with plush furniture like every other room in Blakeney Manor. In front of large windows overlooking the garden, a wide, dark desk invited one to sit in the comfy, velvet chair behind it. Armand could tell Percy spent many hours alone in this room, whether napping or watching his wife and her friends strolling the grounds. On one wall were two maps, one of France, and then Paris. On the other side of the dark wooden wall, was a picture of a beautiful blonde-haired lady. Armand guessed it must have been an ancestor. He glanced back at Percy who was already sitting down in the chair behind the desk, leaning on his hands. "But I must have your word that this will be a secret, from everyone, even M-" Percy paused for a painful, suspenseful moment. "Even your sister."

"Why?" Armand sat down on a chair across from Percy. He was now more curious than ever about this proposition Percy was suggesting, and wished he would get to the point.

"You see Armand..."Percy shuffled his hands together and then started over, "I am sure you have heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"That English fellow whisking away aristos?"

"Yes my dear Armand. What would you you do if I told you I...knew him?" Percy was nervous, shaking actually. His fingers tapped a tattoo on the desk aand his leg moved to an unsteady rhythm.

"You know the.. Scarlet Pimpernel?" Out of all the aristocrats the spy could have told his identity to, it was this man? The fop of fops, king of dandies?

"Did he tell you this himself?"

"No!" Percy shook his head instantly. His eyes finally rested on Armand's figure, although he could not quite meet the other's eye. "No, the Scarlet Pimpernel would not tell anyone his identity."

"How do you know then?"

"He saved me..." Percy finally met his eyes and Armand found depths of passion, longing, curiosity. understanding, and heartbreak.

"What? When did the French dare try to guillotine you?"

"It was a time a great physical, and emotional trouble for me personally."He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "He found me, or rather, I found him in the streets of Paris. He saved his first of many that day," Percy gave a wistful smile.

Armand thought he understood now. "Percy...Are you in league with the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

Percy had given a long laugh, not inane and annoying, but full, amusing and actually joyful. "Sink me Armand! I am the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Armand remembered the conversation they had afterwards, of his incredulity at this reveal, the more Armand thought about it, the more it made sense to him. Percy was the center of the circles in London, he was rich and totally unsuspected by everyone who was acquainted with the fop or even thought they knew him. Thinking of this again, he remembered Percy's blind trust in him, not knowing for sure that he wouldn't betray him. Armand knew if he went back on his oath, Percy would never look at him the same way.

"I'll meet you at the Chat Gris in two days," Armand informed Foullkes and went on his way to Calais' prison. Even though Percy was in Paris to help with the league there, Armand knew he'd look at him with pride and satisfaction the next time he saw his brother-in-law.


	11. Chapter 11

**Just wanted to say a few things, but I finally remembered to put this in my chapter! A special thanks to those who have been reviewing every chapter. I really love you a lot! Marguerite and Alpine Sheep;}**

**I am ALMOST done with this fanfic but i hope your guys enjoyed these past few chapters. As I have written this, I really have discovered my love for creating adventure within the League! Thanks to all who have been reading and plus, a few more followers and reviewers wouldn't either. =D**

...

The Prison Captain had been bored all day, no, he had been bored for years... He would rather have been sent to fight the enemy than sit around waiting for prisoners to try to escape. He spat a clump of tobacco, got another wad out of his bag and chewed again. He chomped, trying to soften it, so when the waste collector came, he just pointed inside and worked on his tobacco. After some of the juices were absorbed, he leaned back and sighed. The privates lazying on the steps around him snored or played cards to pass the time, itching their lice-covered hair or flea-infested clothes occasionally. Slowly and going unnoticed, he drifted off to slumber and dream peacefully in this excruciating boredom. The captain had barely dozed off when a scuffle disrupted his rest. His men held a traitor in their arms, young and brown-haired. A pepper-gray wig had fallen on the hay-covered ground and not wanting to show his moment of sleep-weakness, he ordered the man to be taken inside the prison.

Turning to his lieutenant, he whispered,"What did he do to be seized?" The other man chuckled and patted his back.

"He tried to go around the prison to enter. Most likely to free his lover. Stupid idiot tried going through a window.. He fell into the bushes." The captain shook his head and chuckled.

"Just more fuel for Madame la Guillotine."

"Good work."

"Thanks," The other grinned and followed him into the prison to question their prisoner. The fugitive had his head in his hands and was visibly shaking as he sat behind the table. They sat across from him and smirked at each other.

"Your plan didn't work out like you expected it to be, did it?" The man opposite to them just shook his head again as he sobbed.

"Were you trying to rescue the Comtesse? That was her window you tried to enter."

After a long time, the man finally nodded. _Coward, _the Captain thought.

"Stop your blubbering man. Now you will both perish together. Give thanks to our just Republic!"

"That's just it...She wasn't in her cell!" The man broke down even more. Both the Captain and Lieutenant went white.

"What do you mean 'she wasn't in her cell'?"

"She wasn't there!"

Both of them rushed out and raced to Comtesse Courtney's cell. It was the sight not one soldier in France wanted to see, and it gave a the two officers a queasy and foreboding feeling in their cell was _empty_. The door was open and on her bed, a note with a scarlet flower. The Captain tried to remember where he had heard about this signature. Somewhere in the papers from Paris or something. His lieutenant gasped when he handed it to him and dropped it like one would handling a poisonous snake. "What's with you?"

'That's... that.." His comrade just gaped at the paper fluttering to the floor.

"WHAT IS IT? Spit it out!" The lieutenant blinked, as if awakened from a dream and started to shake.

"It's the Scarlet Pimpernel."  
...

Armand reined in his horses to the lifeless canal by moonlight, pretending to dump the wastes he had collected from the prison. Among that was Comtesse Courtney, who was hidden somewhere in that mess of rotting food and human excrement. At the moment, Armand was in the best mood he had ever been in his entire life. There was a feeling of almost madness and indestructibility, like he would live young forever. Soon, he spied the Comtesse's eyes and heard her gasping for fresh breath again.

"Where are we?" She sat up wearily.

"At the canal Comtesse. You may get out now." She jumped off and fled to the canal water, washing off her face and hands, and sighed.

"My son will be very happy to hear that I got out. The poor lad, he was trying to get me out himself." She met Armand's eyes, which betrayed his ragged look. They looked young, alive and bright, not dull and hopeless like most citizens of France displayed. "You almost remind me of him, Monsieur."

"We both share our love and devotion for those in need," Armand tried to sound noble, but felt he had made a fool of himself then. He indeed had fought for the suppressed lower class of farmers and bourgeoisie, but now he saved the targeted upper class from death. Where exactly did his loyalties lie?

"Hurry Comtesse. My fellow members are waiting for you at the yacht." They left the cart in the shadows, for Armand was supposed to come back to it to bring another family to the Daydream the next day, before Percy would meet up with them with some aristos of his own. Then, they would sail for England with a boatload full of refugees. Most of the league members would have to help them settle into their new home, but Armand had an exception; Marguerite would need him the last few days he was in England. Through just these few days, Armand could tell almost every thought associated with the League's, and Percy's own actions, brought the picture of his wife to Percy's mind. How cruel life could be, when Armand knew both sides of the story! He would not tell Percy, of course, that was Marguerite's job, but he could encourage her to reconcile if he knew Percy's true character. Putting a gentle hand on the Comtesse's back he guided her to the Daydream.


	12. Chapter 12

**Gad! This is my longest chapter yet and I would like to thank Alpine Sheep for giving me so much support throughout this whole story! I have plenty of ideas for more SP fanfics of course, even though you guys seem like a sleeping fanbase...haha jk. Really, I know you guys are awesome, Love you all and enjoy!**

Sir Percy was seen on the shores of Calais in an irreproachable outfit, styled to fit his six foot odd gorgeousness to perfection. His hands were deep in his breeches' pockets. Armand almost whooped for joy when he saw his brother-in-law, but withheld, knowing it would draw attention to the Daydream. A young couple walked next to him in normal peasant clothing. Behind them, he could see a group of soldiers stalking the trio, giving Armand a pang of fear. Percy stood out like a fish out of water. They would question him and arrest him, and...

"Don't worry St. Just," Dewhurst patted his shoulder. "He knows what he is doing, but it is best if we just carry on, or else it would look suspicious." Armand nodded and joined the other League members who were quietly toasting to their Leader. He faced the docks and watched the soldiers order Percy to stop. His heart's pace quickened and he clenched his glass tightly. The rescuees went on ahead, but the Scarlet Pimpernel followed the rogues back in the direction of the Calais prison. "He's been captured!" He hissed. Foullkes turned around, watched the tall figure go, and smirked.

"The Scarlet Pimpernel should be able to get out of situations his own stupidity causes. The poor fellow will be fine." Armand shook his head and slipped from the group, almost running down the gangplank to reach the figures in the distance, when the couple Percy had been escorting stopped him.

"Sir, are you part of that group on the boat?" The young woman asked warily.

"Yes, I am Monsieur St. Just."

"Good," the young man said. He had dark hair, almost black, while the young woman had hair that was too dark to be blonde, but to light to be brown. He handed a note to Armand and waited as he read it.

**Fellows, **

**I have discovered the son of one of our "goods" has been arrested and is in the Calais prison. I will be back on the yacht by ten o'clock tonight with him. Do ****_not_**** leave the Daydream.**

At he bottom was the Scarlet Pimpernel's signature drawn out roughly in red chalk. Armand looked up and smiled at the adolescents. They had to both be younger than Marguerite. Their round eyes were both blue and innocent, and Armand gestured to the Daydream, where he got them refreshments and helped them adjust. He gave the note to Foullkes to read and inform the League members.

"So where were you when the Pimpernel saved you?"

"Well," the young lady named Jeanne laughed. She sipped her wine and then swirled it around in the glass,"We were hiding out in some rag-tag inn. I said something stupid and ignorant when I voiced my opinion in front of someone. They pounced on it and reported it. I knew I was to be arrested." She froze her gaze on the ground, a sort of fearful look on her face, as if she relived the episode. "But my Louis," she looked up at the dark-haired man and smiled with love. He found her hand and squeezed it. "he would not leave me. We were together for days, trying to remain inconspicuous, but we would have been found out eventually. It was a few days after that the Scarlet Pimpernel helped us escape Paris."

"How did he do it?" Armand wanted to hear the exciting, deliberate escape, where they were chased by soldiers for days afterwards, in the storming rain, and managed to withstand the clutches only through Percy's cunning trickery.

"He got her fake papers while I still had mine pure," Louis informed, "and we left the city undetected. They are probably still looking for Jeanne in Paris ." Armand sat back, a little disappointed.

"Ohh, so everything went as planned? That's good, that's good. Well," Armand sighed and slumped against his chair. "you should probably rest. I'll show you to your rooms." They climbed down the steps to the quarters of the yacht. Every single room was taken by the amount of victims they had saved. Armand had rescued the little family consisting of aristocrat parents and an infant from their manor two days before and then Comtesse Courtney yesterday. Other members of the League including Percy had rounded up about a dozen aristos, but they couldn't account for the space. There was one bedroom left, and Percy wouldn't allow them to share a room. He would have to bother some lady or lord to inquire after a room. It would be difficult since Louis was a peasant. They wouldn't stand to share a room with someone beneath them. Then, he wanted to kick himself in the leg. _Just because the St. Cyrs were like that, doesn't make every aristocrat a pompous dolt_._ Look at Percy, did he disregard you or Marguerite?_ Well, he had to rule out his sister for obvious reasons.

Still, when he knocked on the first door, he could not help recall the scars on his back from the beating. It seemed they had renewed in power and pain even though it occurred years ago. He massaged his back as the door swung open. It was a young man in rich, but dirty clothing. He had a book in hand and smiled at the trio. "Yes?"

"There is not enough room in the boat. Could this young man, Louis here, room with you as we travel across the Channel?" Armand was ready to bolt back up to the deck if he said no. He couldn't handle this rejection.

"Of course," he laughed as he shook Armand's sweaty palms. His eyes scrunched up like suns when he laughed like that and Armand found it made him laugh. His scars stopped hurting. "Thank you sir, for you and your men's cause. It is very noble."

"Oh I am not-"

"Come Louis. We'll find you some place to sleep. A chair maybe." Louis glanced back at Jeanne and gave her a small, yearning smile, before walking into the cabin.

"Jeanne your cabin is over here." Armand walked to the end of the row of rooms. It was right across from Percy's quarters.

The girl, most likely eighteen or so, turned and smiled at him. She took his hand and kissed it. "Thank you for having that man save me and Louis. We can start over in England." Armand was shocked. Why did they think _he_ was the Scarlet Pimpernel?

_..._

Percy_ actually _enjoyed his time in jail. He cried out in horrible, broken French, "These demmed seats are covered in dirt! I demand to be taken to-"

"Oh shut up aristo!" The Captain Guard was quite irritable, considering he had lost 9 potential victims for the guillotine in the area. He would have to make up for it with his own life, almost every soldier knew that fact. Besides the fact, Percy intended to make his stay memorable in this man's now shortened life.

It was amusing to see the young man across from him in the other cell look so hopeless, when Percy's true intent was to save the boy. He was foolish, of course. Gad, if he ever sent one of his men to go climbing up prison walls... However, from what he heard, the young man had tried to save his poor mother, which somewhat raised Percy's opinion. He eyed the lad with his eyeglass and smiled inanely,"I have a prison mate? What's your name boy?" The young man did nothing, didn't move. He stayed where he was, looking up at the window, almost as if he were...

"Sink me, do you keep dead prisoners in here to scare us? How inhumane are y-"

"Shut up. The boy is still alive. He just won't move or eat."

"That sounds pretty dead to me," Percy sniffed and turned his head toward the Captain. He chewed his tobacco like a maniac and almost looked like a man who knew he was going to die. He fumbled his hands in laps and trembled in fear. Through his eyeglass he could see his fingernails bitten to stumps. He looked away in disgust and saw the Comtesse's boy had turned his head toward him.

"Surely Captain, I thought you had more aristos than this? Sink me! We are the only ones in this blasted prison." He could see the words had almost physically struck the man. He whipped his head up and then stood, barreling to the cell doors and shook them.

"I said SHUT UP!" He followed with multiple cruel, vile words that Sir Percy, Baronet, would loathe to say.

"Sink me," he said in awe, "I never knew language could be quite as dirty as this prison." He saw the captain's face blaze red before fumbling for the key to Sir Percy's cell. _Perfect_. He prepared himself and gripped the metal plate in his hands. As the Captain Guard stalked to him, hand raised ready to strike, Percy feigned fear and shrunk back. Just before the looming man reached him, Percy straightened, and was about 6 inches taller than the imposer. He swung the plate on the Captain's head hard enough to knock him out. He crouched down and grabbed the keys to the boy's cell, who now stood up in anxiety.

"You're Comtesse Courtney's son?"

"Yes, it's Henry."

"Well Henry," Percy unlocked the door and went inside. "You'll be leaving the same way you came. Through the window." Henry was a muddle of confusion. "Henry, I helped rescue your mother. She is waiting for you on the boat. Do you trust me now?" His pale face nodded and started to climb up to the window."Wait, Henry. I want you to follow every direction. Meet me at the Chat Gris. Do you know the pl-"

"Yes, it is near the slums."

"Good. Wait for me there for half an hour. If not, rent out the loft until I come." He handed Henry a few gold coins. "You understand everything?"

"Yes," Henry answered and then gazed down a him with awe. Percy smiled back up at him, but only for a moment. He could hear shuffling around the corner, and backed out of the cell, back to his own, where the Captain Guard still lay passed out. Gad, he didn't mean to hit him so hard! He dragged him into Henry's space and dropped the keys next to the body. When he looked up, Henry was absent from the prison, and smiled.

Percy went back to his own cell and sat on the floor. He waited so Henry would have a good head start, and absentmindedly brushed off the dirt from the prison. He sighed, knowing his whole outfit was ruined. He would have to get a whole new fitting at Mewer's...  
"Help, help!" he cried as loud as he could in his fop-like attitude. "HELP!" He screeched, and then the soldiers came running in. They saw their Captain passed out and turned immediately to Percy for an explanation. "Don't look at me. The..the boy! He w-w-went crazy. Gad, he knocked out the guard and...and..and"

"And what?" The leader asked impatiently.

"And jumped OUT the window! Gad, he nearly made my heart stop with surprise! He could have ripped his breeches!"

"Oh quiet aristo." the one soldier demanded disgustedly. "Someone get the Captain out of here. Everyone else, let's find this brat. He's got to be in Calais somewhere." After all the soldiers had all filed out and left the prison, including the Captain Guard (still unconscious), Percy silently stood, and without a creak, he opened his unlocked door. Grinning ear to ear, he walked out without restraint through the prison.


	13. Chapter 13

**So this chapter has some angsty/painful feelings for Percy, and I liked writing it. I wanted a conversation with Andrew or Armand, but figured Andrew was his best friend and would understand better. Plus, I didn't know if anyone was getting tired of Armand yet. Next chapter will have Marguerite in it, I promise, in case you're missing her. Since it is summer, I will be able to write chapters more than once a week. Yay! Enjoy, and don't forget to review/favorite!**

Foullkes put down his glass for the last time and laughed jovially. The other league members clinked their own glasses or "huzzah"ed. This adventurer was by far the best, even though Percy was absent the whole time. He had been in Paris seeking out any traitors of the Republic and brought back a couple. He had not met them yet, but saw Armand beckon them onto the boat and into the cabin area. It made him smile; Armand had settled into affairs rather quickly than anyone else had, despite everyone's fears of a betrayal. Andrew himself remembered how he had heaved on the side of the road in Paris after seeing his first execution and feeling that awful pit in his stomach that he could do nothing but watch. Percy had knelt next to him and whispered, "Do you see why we must intervene?"

"Yes Percy," he had moaned, and grasped his forearm, pulling him up. Percy had been like this, pulling him up at times of trouble, ever since their days at school. Andrew smiled again, this period in his life was the most meaningful, most exciting and interesting than any other, or ever would be, unless Percy somehow came up with some type of daring scheme in the future. A voice interrupted his thoughts and everyone else's celebrating.

"Sink me boys!" An inane laugh ensued and the voice continued,"You must be trying to dry out my demmed wine supply to punish me for coming back late." At the first comment, Andrew jumped in fear and then grinned boyishly at recognition. It was almost pitch black outside, but he could assume the other men were doing the same. "We'll have to start with the tide tomorrow morning, sorry boys."

"You'll have to apologize to St. Just. He's been pacing the deck out of anxiety." It was Dewhurst's voice. Others chuckled huskily.

"Someone get a light, it's pitch black out here," Percy ordered, and at first, almost everyone scrambled to get a candle lit, but then Andrew called out he would and they stopped in their tracks. Percy poured himself a glass of wine while Andrew got out a match. When a lantern was lit, they could see him, in all his strength, looking downright tired and dirty. The others did not notice it and in hushed voices, recounted the stories of their rescues. He sounded joyful and proud of the league, but he was weighed down by something, much like the night he had confessed about his fight and estrangement from Marguerite.

"By the way men, this Henry. His mother is Comtesse Courtney. Was it St. Just who saved her?" A teenage boy, a little scruffy looking stepped into the light. He had brown hair and dark eyes, at least in the dim light.

"Aye, it was," Armand answered for the first time that night.

"There you are boy! Could you reunite Henry with his mother?"

"Of course." Armand lead him down, out of sight to join him with his mother. Andrew could guess it would be quite a happy reunion and beamed again.

...

It was after midnight when Percy retired, signifying his silent order for everyone else to as well. Andrew silently followed him to his cabin and when Percy turned to unlock the door, he flinched. "Gad Foullkes! Don't give a man warning do you?"

"Sorry Blakeney. You usually see me. I thought you knew I was behind you."

"No, I must be off tonight or something. I am much too tired than I should be." Percy ran a hand over his eyes and frowned.

"I was actually wanting to ask you about that," Andrew said nervously.

"Of course you did Foullkes, you always see through me." Percy regarded him for a moment and then smiled, "Well come inside Andrew. I figure you aren't going to stop pestering me until I tell you."

"Good, you know me as well as I know you," Andrew smiled and Percy laughed. The door opened and both men walked through. "Is it Marguerite?"

Percy gave him a look. "It's always about Marguerite, Andrew."

"Did the 'new' personality work?"

"For her to resent me even more? Yes Andrew, it succeeded, even if I believe that was my worst acting." While Andrew placed himself on a chair bolted to the floor, Percy sat on the bed and untied his cravat. He sighed and breathed deeply, like it had been choking him.

"You seemed fine when you left England."

"But now I have to see her soon. I have to deal with knowing that I am the worst husband in the history of mankind, and that the only woman whom I have ever loved loathes me for it." Percy plopped his head down on his bed in frustration and hopelessness. It reminded Andrew of how an adolescent would act when they were annoyed with their parents.

"Why are you coming back now?" The blonde head raised off the mattress and frowned.

"She would ask where I was if Armand came back alone. That's the only reason I am leaving so quickly."

"That's the only reason?"

"Yes, and I wish I didn't have to come back with all these refugees. They remind me of everything I lack."

"What?" Andrew didn't know what was wrong with Percy at the moment. The wine or lack of sleep must have gotten to him.

Percy stood and walked to the windows looking out to the dimmed lights of Calais, as if the distant cries for help were calling him back. "Did you see the way Louis and Jeanne looked at each other?" His friend didn't turn around from the window, and for once, Andrew couldn't imagine his facial expression.

"No, I didn't get to speak to them yet. I'm guessing they are in love?"

"As in love as you can get. Andrew, they were almost sick with it." Percy turned around, pain and jealousy evident on his face. "Louis gave up _everything_ for her." He was silent for awhile. Andrew could not interrupt it, for he had nothing else to say.

"Andrew, I spent 24 hours with them, hearing their manifestations of love, seeing their embraces, their hope. It reminded me... of Marguerite and I." Agony was clear in every movement, expression, tone, ripping Andrew's heart open like a knife. "How," he whispered. "How can we be like _this_ when I thought we loved each other?" Andrew now wished his friend would stop. This was almost to hard to hear, and Percy was the one experiencing it. "And Comtesse Courtney's son Henry, he _climbed up a window_ to get to his mother. He nearly sacrificed his life to save her or die with her, and she wasn't even there!" He started to pace the floor. "Marguerite wouldn't do that for me. Andrew, if I was caught and put into a French prison, do you think she would come for me? Would she do whatever it took to get there to be with me?" He looked to Andrew urgently, wanting an actual answer.

"I think, if you continue on this way, treating her indifferently, she won't." Andrew spoke his mind like Percy would want him to. He couldn't lie to his best friend.

Percy stopped and nodded, "Good. She will be less hurt that way, in case that does ever happen."

"Percy, you are _not_ going to die. So far, not one French official can measure up to you."

"Frenchies can be demmed stupid or demmed smart. There is bound to be at least one opponent who can measure up to the League."

"Percy, I've never met a man like you before. There isn't bound to be another person who could be as clever or passionate as you are." His friend smiled warmly and patted his shoulder.

"Thanks Andrew. This helped me. I thought I would explode if I didn't discuss this with someone."

"Anytime, my friend." Andrew stood and made his way to the door. He paused and asked, "So what will you do about Marguerite?"

Percy's expression fell, "I-I don't know Foullkes. God knows I cannot trust her, nor ever forget what she's done."

"Perhaps things will play out alright. If anyone deserves happiness, it is you Percy."

The Scarlet Pimpernel feigned a smile, but then shook his head. "I think you are wrong about that one my friend, I deserve everything that's been folded to me." Andrew just looked at that massive figure and could not help but disagree. In every instance, he believed Percy was in the right. Something so good could not be cursed with such bad luck. And as he shut the door, leaving his friend alone, he shook his head. He passed by all the other rooms with the French Emigres and smiled. They were all safe. He turned and looked back at Percy's door before going back up the steps to the deck. He could not help but feel he had opened up a healing wound and sprinkled salt over it, rather than bandage it and help it close without becoming infected.


End file.
